


Shiver

by squirtysadist



Series: until the rescue [2]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Anal Fingering, Begging, Country & Western, Enemas, Extremely Dubious Consent, F/F, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Master/Servant, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:08:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28401396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/squirtysadist/pseuds/squirtysadist
Summary: Master doesn't want you to catch hypothermia, and there's an age-old trick she knows that willwarm you up.
Relationships: Original Female Character/Original Female Character, You/Original Character
Series: until the rescue [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2080092
Kudos: 31





	Shiver

Your teeth chatter as you tug the blanket over your shoulders. Your body _aches_ from shivering, your muscles squeezing as another shudder runs down your spine. Every muscle is tense, and even though you can feel the heat of the fire washing over you, there’s a bone-deep chill in your limbs––as though your veins are made of ice-cold water.

Master is warming the kettle on the fire, humming a folk song as she busies herself around the campfire. She seems to be in a good mood, though what for, you don’t know. She’s been _nice_ since you fell into the lake. And nice usually comes at a price.

Bowing your head, you inch closer to the fire, trying to feel _some_ warmth as Master checks the water in the kettle. Seemingly satisfied, she picks it up and moves over to the fallen tree, sitting herself down upon it before setting the kettle at her feet.

“Come here, girl.” 

You turn to look over your shoulder at her. She’s further away from the fire.

“Don’t make me ask again.”

You shiver and stand, pulling the blanket tighter around you and walk over to her. Your feet are unsteady, as lethargy weighs at your limbs. You stand in front of her, and before you can ask _what_ , she’s grabbed you, shoving you down, bent over her lap. 

“Master––Stop! What are you––?“

A hand presses low on your back and holds you still as you kick your feet, clawing at the tree to push off from her. 

“Stay _still_ ,” she orders. 

She’s going to belt you again, you know it. All of that humming, all of the smiles she’d given you since getting back to camp were a lie. She’d been waiting, letting the anger build and fester at your incompetence for falling into that lake. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” you plead, as she pushes your dress up. “Master, _please don’t do this!_ ”

“It has to be done,” she says. 

“Please––I’ll be good, I’ll be better. Please don’t! Please don’t do this.”

“It’s for your own good, Sugar,” and then you felt the gloved hand wrap around your drawers before she rips the material down your legs, dropping them to the dirt. “And you’ll feel _all the better for it_.”

You could feel tears running down your eyes––the beating hasn’t begun, and already your chest is rising and falling as you sob, unable to hold them back. And then you feel her hand wrap in your hair as she rips your head backwards, neck arching to look up at her face. For a moment, your sobs cease as you’re looking up at her, tears blurring your eyes.

It’s nightfall, but in the campfire, her blue eyes are alight, a grin wide on her face as she cocks an eyebrow at you. And then you feel her hand place onto your ass before it begins sliding down. 

You struggle again, not sure what she’s trying to do but she yanks at your hair enough that you gasp, feeling the nerve endings alight. 

“What are you doing?” you ask her softly. 

The gloved hand presses against your anus, and then it slides in. You squirm, nails digging as you try to buck her off. 

“ _What are you doing_?” you cry out. She hasn’t done this before, hasn’t _done that_ , _like that_ and you don’t understand why. But the finger presses deeper, sliding in and out, stretching as you whimper, clenching around it.

But Master just laughs, and then she withdraws her finger, and it’s over. Whatever it is, is finished until you hear the sound of sloshing water. 

“Spread your legs for me,” she says.

“No, no, no, no-no. No! I’m not––“

Her hand yanks and then she’s snarling in your ear. “Do it and _take it_ , or I’ll show you a world of pain. And it won’t be pretty.”

You whimper and settle, body shaking from both the cold and fear as you slowly easy your legs apart.

“More.”

You obey, feeling the embarrassment claw at you. One leg presses against the tree log, she’s sitting on, and the other is pushed out. And then you hear the water, sloshing against the metal. Your eyes squeeze shut, body shaking, and then you feel her press the spout against your anus.

“ _Please_ ,” you beg, one more time—as if it will change anything. It doesn’t.

You whimper, feeling it slides inside of you. The water is warm, _very_ warm, almost hot. And there’s a sense of fullness from it. It feels like an eternity and all you can focus on is pressing your mouth shut as you sob.

And then the kettle is pulled away, and the hand in your hair eases. 

You gasp opening, crying as your head drops down as her hand settles to just sitting on your lower back. Your legs are allowed to close, and then you hear her hum again, a song low in her chest as your sobs turn to whimpers and then just to tears dropping down on the dirt ground.

“See,” she says. “That wasn’t so bad, was it? I bet you’re real glad I did that, now, aren’t you, Sugar?”

“Yes, Master,” you answer.

The fire is warm against you, and the air in the night sky isn’t too bad. You shiver, but it’s not as cold as before. 

She hums again, and you’re left bent over her lap, her hand press against the base of your spine, dress pulled up around your waist. 

“What now?” you ask.

“We wait,” she says, and you can feel the grin as she looks down at you. “If you’re good, I’ll even let you in my bedroll tonight.”

It shouldn’t comfort you, but it does. It would help if you hated her if dreaded the suggestion, but you don't. The feeling of her hand low on your back, keeping you steady, provides more warmth than you wish to admit to yourself. 

And as she hums, you feel your chest ache, a flurry of emotions growing inside of you. She wasn’t going to beat you––at least not yet. 


End file.
